


noise

by roseticos



Series: don't tell me how to live my afterlife! [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Past Character Death, changbin isn't taking it well, ghost!jeongin - Freeform, yikes its sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-17 11:35:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16094864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseticos/pseuds/roseticos
Summary: Changbin washes away memories as well as he can, though it seems as if they have already stained. He grabs his soap and begins scrubbing until his skin turns raw, thinking that it might get rid of the last of him. It almost feels wrong, and it definitely doesn’t feel like it’s working, either.The noise is returning, it’s beginning to get loud again, and Changbin wants to forget so, so badly. He wants to forget the crash, wants to forget what it feels like to lose someone. Even if Chan told him it would be okay, standing in that church parking lot, he doesn’t think it can be.-in which changbin can still see jeongin's ghost, and that terrifies him.





	noise

**Author's Note:**

> please be mindful reading this and let me know if i need to add any warnings,,

 

 _"as the sand beneath me slips, as i burn up in your presence,_ _i know now how it feels to be weakened like achilles, with you always at my heels."_

 

Changbin hurts, in every sense of the word.

Maybe it’s from bottling his emotions, or maybe it’s because he hasn’t eaten in the last several days. There’s no one definitive point to explain it. Nevertheless, he finds himself in both physical and emotional pain, every move he makes from underneath his comforter feeling like another stab to the chest, causing him to whimper and want to cry all over again.

With every thought that lingers too long, his mind always makes sure to bring him back to the events over the past week. Changbin doesn’t want to think about it anymore, and he certainly doesn’t want to think about _him_. Remembering does anything but let him heal. It only makes the pain worse. He doesn’t want to hurt like this, curled up in his bed and rendered useless and numb with grief. The horrid feeling crawls through him, settling heavily in his chest and causing his head to pound in time with his heartbeat.

But this must be something everyone goes through when they lose someone, right? Everyone grieves, they just have different ways of going about it.

Beside his bed on his nightstand, Changbin’s phone rings, the device vibrating noisily against the wood surface as Australia’s national anthem begins to play. The boy lets it go to voicemail, effectively ignoring Chan trying to call him and ask if he’s alright. Admittedly, he hasn’t seen his hyung since the funeral, but he can’t see why he is so concerned. The others had called as well, all expressing their concern for him, when, in reality, he’s fine.

It just hurts a little, that’s all.

Changbin still remembers what Chan had warned him when he pulled him into the men’s bathroom of that small church where the service was held: “I know it hurts, but don’t dig yourself a hole okay?"

And he isn’t in a hole, it’s just his way of dealing. Is there something so bad about that? What is there for Chan to worry about? He doesn’t know how Changbin feels, he wasn’t there when _it_ happened.

The national anthem starts again as soon as it finishes, and Changbin finally realizes that Chan really is worried and that the calls may not stop for a while. He isn’t interested in talking to him, though. If he does, Changbin just might throw himself into another cycle of missing _him_. It’s dangerous, and the only way he knows how to cope with that feeling is through isolation, pretending that it’s not really happening, that maybe it’s a bad dream he has yet to wake up from.

But it isn’t; he went to the funeral three days ago.

Changbin stood next to the headstone with his bouquet of flowers, wishing he didn’t have to go through this mindless process of burial. He let Felix lean on him, then, let him soak the shoulder of his suit jacket with his tears. Changbin went to the funeral, and he watched each of his friends break one by one.

He was the first of those friends to arrive on the scene when they recognized _his_ car on the news. Changbin can still see the scene laid out in front of him, standing on a street corner as a police officer holds him back from the other emergency officials working to clean up the accident scene. He can hear the shattered glass of the car's windshield crunching from underneath his boots, hear the paramedics telling him _family only, it's family only._ He remembers wanting to scream, wanting to shout at them that he was his friend, his  _hyung_ , the closest thing to family that he still had.

Changbin can still hear the sirens screaming back at him, drowning out the sound of Chan's ridiculous ringtone as he calls for the fourth time.

In one last attempt, Chan calls him for a fifth time, and, finally forcing movement, Changbin curls up. Ignoring the pain in his middle, he brings his hands up to cover his ears and hopefully block out the dreaded noise that won’t seem to go away. Even after the ringtone stops, the memory keeps playing. The image is gone, but he can hear it. Cars continue to drive by and the sirens are still going. Someone in the distance asks for the time, another asking for witnesses while one tells him to _breathe_.

Changbin doesn’t think he can.

Dazed and suffocating under the weight of his trauma, the boy rolls out of bed, subconsciously trying to get away from something that isn’t there anymore. His blankets topple down with him, and a stuffed animal lands directly on his face. In a moment of panic, he cries out, chucking the comfort item across the room. It ends up by the window opposite his bed on the floor, but he can’t bother with noting where it lands.

Instead, his mind is telling him to run, and— defenseless to his emotions— he does, scrambling to his feet so he can get as far away from the noise as he can. The stabbing feeling in his abdomen is back, and he nearly doubles over in pain.

Somehow, Changbin stumbles to the bathroom. This is his weakest moment, now, trembling and pale as he leans against the counter of the sink, gripping the edges like he’s afraid of collapsing. Then again, maybe he is.

When a wave of nausea crashes into him, Changbin is pulled from all reveries and plunged back into the crushing weight of reality once again, and he feels dizzy and light, like he really might fall over.

Shaking and using the counter for support, he pulls himself upright and drags his body to the nearby shower. He fumbles with the handle, grasping at it desperately until the head spurts to life, sending cold water to rain onto the tile beneath. Without waiting for it to warm, Changbin strips and quickly gets in, sitting on the freezing floor and letting the water cascade down his back.

The stark contrast in temperature is a brief distraction, grounding him momentarily. He rubs his hands over his eyes, trying to find the will to function again, if not for his own self, for Chan. By now, his hyung has probably managed to have an anxiety attack because of him.

He’ll make sure to talk to him soon.

But for now, he has to focus on living and _forgetting_.

Changbin washes away memories as well as he can, though it seems as if they have already stained. He grabs his soap and begins scrubbing until his skin turns raw, thinking that it might get rid of the last of _him._  It almost feels wrong, and it definitely doesn’t feel like it’s working, either.

The noise is returning, it’s beginning to get loud again, and Changbin wants to forget so, _so_ badly. He wants to forget the crash, wants to forget what it feels like to lose someone. Even if Chan told him it would be okay, standing in that church parking lot, he doesn’t think it can be.

The water warms, and it runs hot until there’s no hot water left to pelt and burn his skin. Eventually, he gets out, focusing on breathing and getting himself to look more like a working human being.

Pushing through, he looks for a clean towel, ruffling his hair with it and drying off. Though he slips on the same outfit as before (his sleep clothes, which are nothing more than a large, thin, white t-shirt and a pair of boxers) and fails to actually brush his hair, he brushes his teeth and washes his face. He looks like hell, skin an almost unhealthy shade and hair matted.

Just when Changbin starts to trick himself into believing the ache in his chest has subsided, a sound emanates from his room, floating into the hall and eventually his bathroom. He stops, switching off the water and listening intently to the noise that sounds like someone humming. The melody seizes him, and he’s fighting all kinds of urges as he pads into the hallway.

Pushing open the door to his bedroom, his gaze immediately flicks to the figure lounging on the window seat, the stuffed animal he had tossed away sitting at his feet on the sill. The knot in his stomach only tightens when the figure looks over to Changbin innocently.

“Oh…” he smiles gently, “Hyung?”

Changbin’s blood runs cold. It’s getting hard to breathe again, and his knees are getting weaker. He must be losing it, he must finally be cracking. _He_ isn’t supposed to be here. it’s impossible.

“J-Jeongin-ah…” he croaks out the name, stuttering like the fool he is. Just seeing him makes Changbin worry that he’ll finally collapse from the stress of it all. The voices are getting louder all of a sudden, and he barely hears what the boy says next.

The younger cocks his head, eyes wide with concern, “Hyung, are you okay?”

_No. He’s not._

Jeongin is just like the day he died. He’s wearing Chan’s blood red sweatshirt, the article of clothing hanging loose enough to expose the edge of a whiplash bruise, the mark angry and red against his once perfect skin. Jeongin’s favorite pair of ripped black jeans do nothing to hide the scrapes on his knees. His hair is fairly tidy, but if Changbin looks hard enough, there’s a faint scar along his forehead, the exact place where he saw one at the visitation, irreversibly marking the younger’s skin.

Still, despite this, Jeongin smiles softly and shows off those clear braces Changbin always thought made him look cuter, acting as if nothing happened and he really is the delusional one.

If the past week has taught him anything, it’s to never underestimate the capabilities of the human mind’s coping mechanisms. Though, he’s never heard of hallucinating being a common one.

Changbin is crumbling now. Shaking and crying and _confused_. He doesn't understand, and he doesn't think he wants to, either. "B-But you're—"

"Dead? Yeah." Jeongin breathes out a laugh so careless and real that it physically _hurts_ to hear it again, "I thought you knew that, though? Idiot, always forgetting things."

This is worse than remembering. This is reliving.

Another shy whisper, "Changbinnie-hyung?”

He’s too far gone. Changbin had no idea something could hurt so much as seeing the boy he looked out for when he’s supposed to be buried six feet underground in a cemetery twenty miles away. He can’t tell what’s real anymore, not when he’s hallucinating dead boys who _know_ they’re dead and call him _hyung_ like they did when they _lived_.

“You’re not _real_!”

And still, Changbin can’t tear his eyes away. That’s _Jeongin_ , that’s his _baby_ , he’s _here_ . Though there’s worry hiding in his eyes, he’s _smiling_. How could he ever look away from that, even if he is crazy?

“You’re _n-not_ . That’s not how this works,'Innie.”

Jeongin’s brows furrow, “You seem stressed.”

“Don’t— _Don’t you understand?_ ” Changbin cries desperately, trying to make sense of anything, “Jeongin-ah, you’re _dead_ , and I’m _alive._  You’re supposed to be in a better place and I’m supposed to grieve and then act like it never happened and that you never _left us_.”

The dead boy seems to consider this, eventually slipping off the bench and onto the floor. He sits with his legs crossed and the stuffed animal in his lap, watching Changbin who, by now, has fallen to his knees.

“But,” he toys with the ear of the plushie, “That’s not what you’re doing, is it? Even if that _is_ what you’re supposed to do?”

Changbin sucks in a breath, but when he moves forward, Jeongin hastily holds up a hand to keep him from making any kind of contact, "It's better if you don't do that."

"Jeongin—"

"Stop!" He scrambles away, cringing back from his outstretched hand, "You can't touch me!"

Jeongin resembles a cornered animal, back pressed against the window bench as he hyperventilates, wanting for Changbin to do anything but touch him. There's a wounded look in his eyes, and the smile is gone, replaced with a trembling bottom lip. The only thing they can do now is stare at each other in fear.

Changbin can feel his heart constricting. His mind struggles to keep up with this, struggles with understanding why he’s seeing him and why he’s not allowed to touch him. That’s all he wants— to hold him and hug him and never let go.

But now Jeongin is scared of the very comforting touch that he used to lean into, and Changbin doesn’t understand why.

Slowly, he retracts his hand, crawling back until they’re a couple feet apart. The shock of his younger’s reaction alone makes him go numb. Somehow calms his once chaotic state until the two can do little other than watch each other warily.

”Why, why are you _here_?” he finally wonders aloud, squinting at the once living boy before him, “Am I really making you up? Are you real, or a hallucination?”

Jeongin, still seeming to be shaken, detaches himself from the bench. Before, he was calm, even happy, but he was far from that because Changbin scared him. Changbin hurt him. He hates himself for being the cause of Jeongin’s suffering. He wants to make him smile again, but he doesn’t know how.

"It's not something I should talk about..." he utters quietly.

Changbin finds that he can't look him in the eyes. The gap in trust between himself and his emotions doesn’t let him, afraid of what he might do if he did. Instead, his gaze rakes over his sweatshirt, slowly climbing up until he's examining the horrid bruise on his neck. It makes him feel sicker than he already is.

"Why is this happening?" Changbin blurts, the need for answers suddenly multiplying.

 Jeongin shakes his head, "I don't know, Hyung, but—"

It's difficult to hold back the shake in his voice, "There has to be a reason for this, there- there _has_ to. Things like this don't _happen_."

It's not often people hallucinate the ones they lose, right? He's never heard of that happening— a vision so real it feels like they're alive. Is his mistreatment of himself finally getting to him? He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand at all.

"I just wanted to see you, Hyung," the familiar soft voice pulls him away from his thoughts, "I thought that maybe you were okay. I thought it would be... different than it is."

Changbin wants this to be normal. He's beyond the point of comprehending this vision by now, accepting the fact that whatever is happening, Jeongin is here and he has to take advantage of that.

Jeongin feels so different, too. He has always smiled, always seemed happy— at least, he did when he was alive. It was not often that he mumbled or whispered. Now, he's skittish and worried. Everything he says comes out hushed or subdued. He's... hesitant. It's strange.

"You're not okay, are you?”

 _No. He's not_.

Changbin is anything but okay. His breathing is uneven and every muscle seems to hurt. His eyes remain watery, and he can feel the paths of his tears drying on his face. His hand is probably shaking. If he tells the truth, his head is pounding and the hunger is starting to get to him. 

And he's talking to a ghost.

He is anything but okay. He's not okay. He's not okay. This isn't how to grieve, this isn't _okay_. Changbin is tearing himself apart, and he's not okay. Chan told him not to be like this, but he is anyway. Chan warned him, but he didn't listen, and he's not okay. Not okay. _Not_ —

"Hyung?"

"Jeongin."

The bruises littering his skin and the fear in his eyes is enough to tell Changbin that death changed Jeongin _._ The older doesn’t know if he should be scared about that or not. All he knows is that he can _see_ him. He sees the bruises of that accident, sees the fear of the crippling effects of its aftermath. Changbin isn’t okay, but Jeongin isn’t either.

Australia’s national anthem suddenly plays from the older boy’s nightstand. Jeongin almost smiles, knowing exactly who the ringtone belongs to.

_They both know that it’s Chan, and they both know that Changbin can’t let it ring this time._

 


End file.
